My True Love Gave to Me
by Tarlea
Summary: Edith is heartsick that she won't be able to provide a magical Christmas for Marigold this year-it just isn't in the budget. But when anonymous packages begin to arrive on her doorstep, her quest to discover the identity of the sender may stir her heart in other ways... **For Spottedhorse in the Andith Secret Santa Exchange 2017!** MERRY CHRISTMAS!
1. A Pear Tree

**A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS Spottedhorse (and everyone)! Tis I, your Secret Santa! You've been such a good shipper this year, that you get your gift in SIX parts! (It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that I'm bad with deadlines.) Enjoy Part I below, and have a very happy holiday!**

 **(P.S. Expect the second when the clock strikes one…er, that is, in the next few days.)**

* * *

 **I - A Pear Tree**

$402.87.

Edith read the figure glaring at her from the bill in her hand.

$402.87 for the ultrasound and the special labs. Marigold hadn't shown any symptoms for over a month now, but the last of the bills were still arriving. And the table before her held _three_ unpaid bills for things like the car repair her brother-in-law was being generously patient about, the electric bill that spiked in the winter when she had to crank space heaters to warm the corners of her drafty little cottage, oh, and of course her rent. She looked at the paper again. $402.87. And next week was Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and cry. So Edith did.

She felt the hot tears against her palms as she thought about Marigold's dismal Christmas. There would be no cheerfully filled stocking, no elegant Christmas dinner—they didn't even have a Christmas tree. Edith just couldn't justify the expense. The cottage was as it always was, save for the red and green paper chain she and Marigold had fashioned from construction paper and hung above the living room windows; a few paper snowflakes, and assorted hand-drawn Christmas pictures tacked here and there. Hardly the magic a little girl deserved for Christmas.

Especially when that little girl _might_ have—the thought brought on a fresh choke of sobs—mightn't have made it to Christmas. Somehow in August the six year old had contracted a potentially crippling intestinal infection. Fortunately they'd caught it in time and the (expensive) antibiotics had worked. It had been a slow and anxious process, but Marigold's body was absorbing nutrients normally again, and could sleep through the night without the aid of a diaper. A few weeks ago, they'd begun gradually reintroducing different dairies into her diet and her body seemed to be coping well. Edith sniffed and wiped her eyes. That was the most important thing, she reminded herself. That Marigold was here with her for Christmas. They would just have to make their _own_ magic.

But the thought clanged in the pit of her stomach. _If only she could siphon off a little money_ … But when she started to think about where to draw from, her head began to ache and she was right back where she began. She couldn't help feeling this would all be easier with a partner, a companion to share the load both financially and emotionally. Making it through the terror and trial of Marigold's illness, nights of convulsive weeping after her daughter had finally drifted to sleep, anxious hours in clammy hospital chairs, carefully planned bland meals coaxed down the girl's throat; had taken all her fortitude, and she wouldn't have minded a knight in shining armor to come lift the weight of the world from her shoulders. But more than that, though far from age six, her heart had its own Christmas longings…

Edith went to the kitchen to draw a glass of water from the tap. She sighed and leaned against the counter, sipping slowly. A glittering red Christmas card winked at her from the front of the fridge; her sister Mary's seasonal offering. That was another thing Marigold wouldn't have this Christmas, Edith thought glumly; a big family gathering with cousins to romp and play. Last year her father's antiquated attitudes about children out of wedlock had exploded into a screaming match that had resulted in a year of icy avoidance. Her mother reached out from time to time, and she and her siblings meant to set up more playdates than they did, but ultimately life intervened. And though it only took one look at Edith's paneled walls and nonexistent square footage to know that she wasn't as well off as they were, Edith would never let them know how bad things had gotten.

Which meant she'd _have_ to find a way to make Marigold's Christmas special all by herself.

X

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X

Anthony Strallan frowned down at the list of figures displayed on his computer screen. Edith Crawley was behind on her rent. Here it was almost Christmas and her balance for November still sat empty.

It wasn't like her to be careless. He knew that from his years of acquaintance with her family. She wasn't the type to party away her rent or spend it on frivolities. If she was this far behind, she must be in dire financial straits.

His frown deepened. He didn't like to think of the bright, impassioned Edith he once knew struggling to make ends meet. He'd known her through her college years, when she'd been ambitiously pursuing a journalism degree, solemnly committed to telling the truth through investigative reporting. One corner of his mouth quirked up at the thought of her describing her plans, eyes shining with the excitement of the unknown future. His memories blurred and flowed from one to another; holiday house parties with chess bouts and frosty strolls; occasional rambles when he could make the excuse to get to Sheffield; laughing in some dive at midnight on a break from exam-cramming (he'd paid for that one the next day); all accompanied by a nonspecific thrill of discovery and connection. The comfortable contentment between them was utterly irresistible and defied the difference in their ages. Or it _had,_ once.

Edith's studies had ended, and she'd gone off to London to a smashing career and a dashing coworker. They'd fallen out of touch, months stretching into years. Then her daughter had come along. Soon after she'd moved back to Yorkshire and, unbeknownst to her, begun renting one of the many tiny cottages on his now noncontiguous ancestral holdings. As all his real estate dealings went through an agency run by Mr. Barrow, she was spared the potential embarrassment of knowing that the man she had once danced with beneath regal buttresses and glittering chandeliers was now intimately acquainted with her rental accounts.

His eyes wandered back to the 'overdue balance' on his screen. He felt suddenly restless. His hands curled around the arms of his chair, and he thrust out of it. For several seconds he stood, poised, though he didn't know just what he was going to do. He began to walk towards the entryway…then to his coat closet…then out the door…

The benefit, he thought as he strode through the bright crisp morning, of being one's own boss was that one could occasionally work from home. And, should one feel the rather mad urge to take a causal stroll halfway across the county before lunch on a Wednesday, one could. And should that walk take him past Edith Crawley's door…

Anthony stood in the drive, examining the modest cottage before him. He wasn't sure what he'd thought to do; it wasn't as if knocking on the front door was going to make Edith's financial woes disappear or mitigate the awkwardness of the situation when she discovered he'd been collecting her rent for years. Thankfully, Edith and her little girl were out at present. No car sat in the drive, and the house looked…bereft, cold, dreary. He couldn't quite out his finger on just what was missing… Until he realized. There were no Christmas decorations. No lights or red bows, no wreath, not so much as a single brass jingle bell. Impulsively, he moved forward to look through the window. As he suspected, there was no Christmas tree either. Unless she was hiding it in her bedroom in the back of the cottage. Which thought made him realize that he was peering through someone else's window like some kind of Peeping Tom. He backed away from the window, brushing dust from his fingers. It seemed to him profoundly sad that anyone, let alone a child, should go through Christmas without at least a tree. And then the roiling dissatisfaction he'd felt since he'd opened Edith's rental report stilled at an idea. A grin spread over his face as his thoughts unwound and he fairly sprinted back down the lane from whence he had come. _What were the odds he could get a taxi to come all the way out here…?_

X

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Anthony inhaled the spicy sweet perfume of fresh douglas fir and grinned, instantly awash in festive cheer. He stooped to search through one of the three shopping bags near his feet, filled with brightly colored balls, shiny red beads roped in a garland, a spangled star topper, and a strand of multicolored, pear-shaped Christmas lights, whose whimsy Anthony had been unable to resist. He stood back, examining the graceful evergreen boughs as a sculptor might a block of marble. It was only six feet, so he'd have to be deliberate with his decorations. He'd wanted to go with a larger tree, but he'd known it wouldn't fit in her cottage. He imagined the excited exclamations of mother and child when they spied a fully decorated tree on their doorstep, and rubbed his hands together meaningfully.

"What's this?" Thomas Barrow drawled, coming into the garage sometime later. The tree glowed with its pear lights and was half covered in shining balls.

Anthony looked over his shoulder at the tall dark figure, his fingers still working on a sparkling silver orb.

Anthony smiled. "A Christmas present," he explained merrily.

"That's awfully kind of you," Thomas said, genuine approval breaking through his usual dry sarcasm. Besides being his real estate manager Thomas was also a friend. "Who's the lucky winner?"

"Edith Crawley," Anthony said casually as he continued to work, though he was aware of the slightest of blushes heating his cheeks. "I was walking by her house today and I didn't see a tree in the window so I thought it might be nice for her and her little girl."

"You've gone to a lot of trouble," Thomas fingered the fruit-shaped lights, "Where's the partridge?"

Anthony examined the tree and gave a small laugh.

"I gave it time off for the holiday."

Thomas grunted.

"So, how do you plan to get this grand gift to fair lady's door?"

Anthony directed his gaze upon his young friend, his blue eyes glittering.

"Funny you should ask."

* * *

 **A/N: Merry Christmas as well to all other shippers and readers! You make this ship great! And thank you to everyone who participated in the first Andith Secret Santa Exchange! I've had fun, and I hope you have too!**


	2. Two Turtledoves

**A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS! (I know, I know, I already said that.) A sincere thanks to everyone who reviewed—you're lovelies to find something to praise in that prologue of a chapter. And thanks for the generous spirit of all Brits out there, including Guest, who gently pointed out that my Yank is showing. I temporarily forgot how civilized you all are over on that side of the pond, meaning that medical treatment isn't a debt sentence. Also, make that $402.87 £301.23. I was too busy referencing O. Henry to use my brain. My apologies. :s**

 **Another brief installment. Part III is** _ **almost**_ **finished…**

* * *

 **Part II – Two Turtledoves**

The next morning Anthony left early for work so he could take a 20-minute detour past Edith's house. _He_ _just_ _wanted to see…_ And as he craned his neck, he glimpsed the lambent, cheerful crown of a Christmas tree through the cottage's front window. He smiled, wishing he could've seen the looks on their faces. He'd hoped it had been a magical moment for the little girl. He'd had Thomas leave the tree on the stoop, and he'd added a note that said " _To make your Christmas Merry and Bright, bring me inside and give me a light!"_

As he cruised toward the train station, the smile still lingering on his lips and bright contentment radiating through him, Anthony thought about Thomas's quip that his tree had looked like "a partridge in a pear tree." He began to hum the jaunty little tune. O _n the first day of Christmas…_ His mind wandered— _funny that a bird should be called after a reptile. Why was it called a_ _turtle_ _dove anyway? Did they really nuzzle noses as lovers were supposed to do? Come to think of it, he'd never actually seen grown adults do that, usually he saw mothers do it with their children…_

He conjured the image of Edith and her daughter before he was even conscious of doing so. And then he knew he _had_ to. He simply had to get a special paired gift for Edith and her little girl. It might be the _only_ gifts they got this Christmas, he reasoned. And then he'd stop. Just _one more_ surprise to make the holiday special for a six-year-old girl and the hardworking mum who loved her. Or perhaps, he mused, it was the other way around…

Anthony felt as though his lunch hour would never come. As soon as it did, he ransacked the shops near his office, trying to restrain himself from going too far with his gifts—he didn't want to overwhelm or make Edith uncomfortable. With the help of a most efficient shopgirl, he decided on two soft fuzzy robes with matching plush Christmas socks and two Christmas mugs with gourmet hot chocolate kits. As he went to join the queue to pay, he passed a rack with bath bombs wrapped to look like bulbous Christmas candies. On impulse, he added one of those too—a sweet vanilla that evoked cozy winter nights. He imagined Edith and her daughter (he really must discover the child's name) snuggled on the sofa after a warm bath, bundled in their robes and socks, sipping hot chocolate and reading a Christmas story…

Then, just as he was about to pay, something glimmered in the corner of his eye. In a small box displayed on the counter, was a set of matching silver charms—two small birds with necks stretched forward as if to kiss one another.

 _Two turtledoves._

As he paid, he told himself that _really_ was it.

X

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X

Edith pushed open her car door and willed her weary limbs to move. She worked part-time for a multi-platform media production company, a small-but-mighty local institution in Ripon. Unfortunately, the institution was also limited in funds, so Edith had to work another job as well, where she'd been today; running around taking care of a dozen little worries in an elder care facility. She fought the urge to order pizza as her aching feet found the ground beneath her, her sleepy brain half-registering Marigold's excited chatter as the girl bobbed along towards the door. There were two boxes cluttering the small stoop. One bore the bold arcing script of her sister Sybil, and she gave a tired smile. That would be the Christmas presents from the family. Edith felt a pang that all she'd been able to send back were a few cheap paperbacks for the kids, and the annual subscription to her company's one youth magazine. She stooped toward the other package, unadorned save for a handwritten note: " _A little something for two ladies who deserve a cozy Christmas_." Edith furrowed her brow. That handwriting seemed familiar… Tightly spaced, in swift looping patterns… In fact, she was almost certain it was the same as the note on the Christmas tree yesterday…

Again her brain queried. Why would someone be sending her gifts? And who? As she pondered, Marigold provided an answer.

"Santa brought us a present! He brought the Christmas tree last night, and today he's brought us something else!"

Edith looked up from the package and gave her daughter a grin. "Maybe," she said mysteriously.

But her journalist's brain was firing off questions, curiosity pushing through her weariness. _Who_ was this secret Santa? And how did they know how much she needed a little Christmas magic this year? Her eyes landed again on the handwritten note. Some kindly soul was on the other end of that note, someone generous and thoughtful, someone who felt like a friend. She wished she could thank them, could _know_ them. She took the notecard and slid it into her pocket. _Ok friend, I'm going to do my best to discover who you are…_

XXX

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 **A/N: For your edification, a turtledove is so called out of the Latin name "turtur" which is an approximation of the cooing noise the bird makes. Turtur dove: turtledove.**


	3. Three French Hens

**A/N: On the Eighth Day of Christmas, Tarlea (finally) gave to me: part III of a fic that is set** _ **before**_ **Christmas and really ought to have been completed before the New Yearrrrr…**

 **Abject apologies, Spottedhorse and All. Thanks to family dynamics we had** _ **three**_ **Christmases this year, and everything got crazy this last week preparing for and then celebrating Christmases #2 and 3. I shall strive to get as many updates in before Twelfth Night (Jan. 6) as I can. You're all the most wonderful darlings and I don't deserve you.**

 **HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

* * *

 **Part III – French Hens**

Anthony was being extremely foolish. Childish, even. Luckily not illegal since he owned the property, but even so… It was not the height of manners to spy on one's tenants. Especially when one was doing it from inside the hedge across the road. Where one, a grown man, was sitting on his silly ass like a child.

But he couldn't help himself. After two evenings spent wondering how Edith and her daughter had liked their gifts, he'd decided to watch as they received today's delivery. He knew it was a weakness; vanity. True altruism didn't need thanks. And yet it wasn't praise he was after—he just wanted to witness their enjoyment, to know firsthand that he had brought some happiness into Edith's seemingly hopeless situation. And heck, it was only human to give a gift and want to see it appreciated, right? It wasn't like he was using a telescope on her window. He would watch the front of the house when she got home, wait until they'd gone inside, then leave. If for no other reason than that it was getting rather cold sitting here in the yew.

Of course, _yesterday_ was supposed to have been his last festive offering. But he'd reasoned that _three_ gifts had such a nice trigonometry to it—like the three magi bringing gifts to the infant Jesus. However, he'd only _just_ placed the order for his third offering, when fresh sparks lit his imagination for "four calling birds," and he knew he was going to see it through, right down to twelve drummers drumming. It was just too much fun! He hadn't had anyone to give a really _thoughtful_ gift for years (his sister Elizabeth sent very specific lists and one merely had to choose), and engaging in a little charitable conspiring was making it feel more like Christmas than it had in a long time.

The sound of tires on gravel made him lift his head, and he trained his gaze on the tidy brick residence. Edith's blue Honda turned into the drive and came to a slightly jerking halt. Out came Edith, bending inside to retrieve an overstuffed satchel, her shoulders heavy with fatigue, her movements stiff with exhaustion. Her daughter appeared, bundled into a puffy red parka and carrying a sky blue backpack with a rainbow-tailed unicorn on it. The girl trotted towards the doorway eagerly, and presently he heard an excited "Mama, mama!"

Edith's tired but happy laugh carried on the breeze and he felt it like a benediction. His grin became so wide that he was certain it would soon begin to fluoresce and reveal his presence. He couldn't be sure who was enjoying this moment more—himself or the girl, who was now hopping around the package like an excited chicken. Edith now knelt to examine the two packages. Damnably, she'd turned her face away from him, but he trained his gaze on the back of her head, the line of her shoulders, for any sign of enjoyment. The first gift was fitted into a black thermal bag, which, when unzipped, released a little curl of steam. He could almost smell the appetizing aromas of lemon honey and rosemary himself. He'd ordered a full chicken dinner from one of his favorite restaurants, where the chicken was so tender and flavorful it could melt in your mouth. He'd registered after the fact that he'd eaten the dish once while dining with Edith, on what had been one of the best evenings he'd ever spent in her company; or anyone's for that matter. As he watched, Edith discovered the contents of the other parcel, two more farm-raised chickens ready to go into her freezer, with a booklet of recipes which were quick, easy, and budget-friendly. Edith straightened with the parcels carefully balanced, satchel still hanging from her shoulder. She appeared to be having some difficulty reaching her keys, and he leaned forward instinctively, wanting to go help her. He remembered himself just as Edith's daughter reached into her mother's pocket and retrieved the keys, pushing the door open. Mother and child disappeared into the house, and Anthony was aware of a pang of disappointment. He imagined Edith and the girl, sitting in their cozy dining nook, sharing a gourmet dinner in the light of their Christmas tree…

Swift, keen longing opened a small cavity in his chest. How he would love to be at that modest table; sharing the simple delight of good food enjoyed in good company. He pictured Edith, pear lights casting a soft glow over her already luminous smile, and a less definable daughter, shoveling forkfuls of scrumptious chicken into her mouth, making her mother laugh and scold her good-naturedly. A wistful burst of air escaped him, not quite a sigh. He levered himself to his knees, maneuvering his long limbs to a standing position. As he walked towards his car, the familiar lines of music passed through his head. _On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…_

Anthony mentally scoffed at himself. He didn't love Edith Crawley. He certainly wasn't _her_ true love. He was just… But what _was_ he? They'd been companionable once, close in their fair-weather way. He wrinkled his nose. That wasn't quite right either; it didn't seem to describe what they'd been to one another. As he contemplated Edith, his chest softened and warmed. If he were honest with himself, he'd admit there had been times when they'd broached something deeper than just friendship, something that tempted him more than he should allow… But that had been almost eight years ago. Picking up the threads of that relationship, whatever it was, would be…well certainly awkward if not a challenge. _Better to remain anonymous._ _And ignore the urge to go knock on her door._ And anyway, he needed to get home. "Four calling birds" was going to take a little extra skullduggery…

X

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X

Flavor blossomed on Edith's tongue and melted into the roof and sides of her mouth. Her lids fluttered closed and she couldn't resist a low "mmmmm." She swallowed, a ridiculous grin blossoming on her lips. Three French Hens. _Very_ clever. _And scrumptious. Thank you, friend._ Or perhaps she should call her benefactor "true love." She'd suspected yesterday with the matching turtledove necklaces (that both she and Marigold had worn today), but this confirmed it. Whoever her mystery Santa was, they were following the lines of the old carol. Edith couldn't repress a thrill of anticipation at the thought of the gifts continuing for the next _nine_ days. She certainly didn't need to be showered in gifts, but as long as they kept coming, she felt less alone, like someone was watching over her. She fingered the notecard in her pocket that said " _I thought you might find this dish a favorite, as I do. Bon App_ _é_ _tit_!"

"Yum!" Marigold expressed enthusiastically, munching away at her portion of the feast, "Santa's elves are good cooks!"

Edith laughed. "They _are_ , aren't they?"

But in fact, the meals had come from Nugent's Tavernin Richmond. The packaging had proclaimed that loud and clear. _Surely she could put a call in to the gourmet tavern and ask a few discreet questions…._

"Mama, aren't you going to eat?" Marigold queried, tucking into a perfectly roasted potato.

"Yes," Edith smiled lovingly at her daughter and raised her fork with a flourish. "I think even you will finish all your dinner tonight!"

Marigold nodded enthusiastically, her mouth too full to respond.

As Edith had prophesied, Marigold cleaned her plate without any cajoling, and was allowed to have a candy cane she'd received at school that day for dessert. Then Edith shepherded her through brushing teeth, putting on pajamas (which included wearing her dove necklace, of course), climbing into bed and saying prayers. Adorably, the girl offered enthusiastic thanks for the presents from Santa—"especially the yummy chicken!"

Edith kissed her daughter goodnight and withdrew from the room with a soft chuckle. How nice it was to have their prayers focused on something so whimsical—after months of praying for a good night's sleep and "for my tummy to get better." After all that Marigold had been through, pain and embarrassment and ordeal and fear, this secret Santa had reminded her there was magic in the world. Edith felt her heart swell with gratitude. _Thank you, dear, dear friend._

She contemplated her anonymous benefactor as she slipped beneath heavy covers, burrowing into the snug embrace of cotton and wool. What did she know about them? Really nothing. Presumably they were from somewhere nearby. And somehow they knew her financial situation. Maybe the office? But none of her coworkers seemed like the type to make multiple lavish gifts. After all, their salaries were fairly close to hers. That was, she supposed, the one thing she really knew about this _friend._ Whoever it was had money or they wouldn't be able to afford such gifts. Or to eat regularly at Nugent's…

Edith drowsily conjured the eighteenth-century façade of the gourmet restaurant-tavern. She'd only ever been there twice in her life, once with her mother when she was sixteen. Clearly her mother had felt guilty that she more frequently spent Saturdays clothes shopping with Sybil or getting mani-pedis with Mary and had planned a special mother-daughter day with Edith. Perhaps to make up for the infrequency of such days, she'd been especially generous, and had treated the both to lunch at Nugent's Tavern. It had been a good day. But the other memory of Nugent's was far more precious. Anthony Strallan had once taken her there for her birthday.

Well, it hadn't _actually_ been her birthday. It was December 28, and she was born on July 16, but Anthony was at Downton for the holiday house party, and when he'd learned that her birthday had come and gone without much in the way of celebration, he'd insisted on taking her to dinner. Naturally, he'd chosen the fanciest restaurant in a 60km radius. That was the thing about Anthony—he rather overdid it to make her feel special because so often others endeavored to tear her down. If Mary sneered at her opinion over dinner, he'd come into the conversation so strongly on Edith's side that he bordered on political polemic; if she was sitting alone at a party, he'd challenge her to not one, but _seven_ games of cards (and she suspected let her win at least once); if she was standing on the side of the room at the New Year's ball, he'd dance with almost no one else; if he heard her birthday had gone uncelebrated, he'd buy her dinner at £20 a plate. He was such a dear, the best of friends one could ask for, and she felt a pang of true regret that she'd let the friendship lapse. She directed her mind back to that perfect dinner, recalling the thrill of luxury and glamour, her best dress enhanced by Anthony's radiant gaze, as though she were the most dazzling woman in the world. She closed her eyes, basking in warm candlelight and Anthony's smiles, merry laughter and amity so strong it was almost sensual…

After that night she'd thought maybe, just _maybe_ , there was something more to be had with Anthony than just friendship. But when she'd tried to suggest her willingness, either she'd been too subtle or he'd been uninterested, because nothing happened, and they continued on as before. Perhaps that was why she'd let things fall apart. Looking back, she could see that she'd become rather infatuated with Anthony Strallan, and his unconscious rejection had stung more than she'd realized.

 _And now?_ Could she try to reconnect after all these years? Probably he'd be embarrassed, if not annoyed. I mean, it wasn't like he'd done much to keep the friendship alive either. Maybe it was better to let her memories remain in the past.

 _Well,_ she thought as she drifted to sleep, visions of Anthony dancing in her head, _if I have to live on memories, at least my memories are so damned delicious…_

XXX


	4. Calling Birds

**A/N: So there are seventeen days of Christmas right? My apologies for the delay between this chapter and the last. I really *am* trying to be more efficient than usual on this one, truly.** _ **As planned**_ **there are two more parts, so we'll get to the happy ending soon!**

 **Also, WELCOME to all new readers! If my little scribblings can bring you even a little pleasure, then I am honored. As I am by all of you who have read and supported me for some time. You're really too good to me. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Part IV – Calling Birds**

Edith cupped her hands around her specially gifted Christmas mug, toasty with her afternoon tea, and snuggled into her specially gifted Christmas robe. Sure it was 2:00 in the afternoon, but it was also a Saturday. The fluffy mantle was just what she needed to stave off the perpetual chill her house held, as if haunted by the ghost of all the Christmases it had seen over its five decades. Or perhaps the reason she'd been wearing it all day was because the robe was a reminder of her mysterious friend, and that wearing it made her feel almost like she was wrapped in a reassuring embrace.

Which reminded her—she had some investigating to do. She had the perfect opportunity as Marigold had laid down for a nap; a habit she had re-acquired during her illness, which sapped her energy and sometimes rattled her nerves. These days a nap wasn't as necessary, but Marigold had asked to go lie down, and as they said, let a sleeping child lie.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her mobile. She googled the number for Nugent's Tavern, and a few minutes later was talking with the head waiter who introduced himself as Andrew.

"…I'm trying to get some information for a piece I'm writing," Edith used her standard fib. It worked wonders for wheedling information out of people or gaining access places she wouldn't normally be allowed.

"A reporter?" he sounded somewhere between amused and bored. "What can I do for you, Miss Crawley?"

"You have a chicken dish. One of your signature recipes; rosemary and honey lemon."

"One of our house specials," he confirmed, though he seemed preoccupied. She supposed he _did_ have a wait staff to run.

"Well, I guess you would say it is quite popular? A favorite of several of your customers?"

"Mmmm," he intoned.

"You couldn't tell me if there was perhaps _one_ patron in particular who ordered that dish frequently? Someone local, and…" she went with her gut, "male?"

There was a brief pause at the other end of the line.

"Forgive me m'am, but I haven't the faintest idea what you're getting at. We have lots of regular customers, most of them are locals, and I couldn't tell you which gentleman ordered the signature chicken most often even if it _wasn't_ a breach of confidentiality."

Edith felt herself color. He was right. She was fishing for information without any real bait.

"Ok, last question and I promise I'll leave you alone. You received an order yesterday for that chicken, a takeout."

Another brief pause. "Yes. Don't usually do takeout. But the customer was most insistent."

"Right," Edith said, feeling her pulse quicken, "I'm the one who received that chicken. It was a gift. And I wonder if you might tell me about the person who ordered it? Anything at all."

She heard the man's breathing as he considered.

"Well, I didn't take the order. But the man who picked it up… Tall fellow, dark hair. I'd say late thirties. And-not that it has any bearing on this bizarre goose you're tracking-I'm pretty sure he was gay."

Somehow that last fact slapped Edith in the face. She felt the shock of it steal some of her breath away.

"Right. Well, thank you." She mumbled. "I'll let you go…" Edith hung up the phone.

Somehow she just…hadn't thought "true love" was gay. It didn't seem right, bothered her for some reason. She frowned. Somewhere subconsciously she must have decided that her anonymous friend was a man, and something in that lonely subconscious had formed just the tiniest inkling of romantic attachment to that shadowy figure. And now to find out he was gay? She gave a melancholy sigh, and then laughed out loud at herself. What a ninny she was. She could still dig through her clues and unearth a kindred spirit, a bosom friend, couldn't she?

In her hand, her dormant mobile lit and buzzed.

 _Heck yes I'm on board for ladies night tonight!_

 _But you didn't have to send me an engraved invitation LOL._

It was text from her university chum Gwen. Gosh, she hadn't seen Gwen in ages, even though she really didn't live too far from Downton. But what was she talking about? Edith lifted her thumb to punch in the question when her doorbell rang.

When she opened the door, there stood a postal courier.

"Here you go," he said cheerfully, handing over a slim package. "You have a nice holiday," he said over his shoulder as he hurried back to his delivery truck.

Edith examined the package, suspicion creeping up the back of her neck. She _had_ wondered if the gifts would continue…

This time the card read:

 _Forgive the presumption. I thought perhaps you and your friends might enjoy an evening out on the town. To that end, a car will be sent to your residence' at 6:30 PM to take you to The Blue Finch in York. Don't worry about expenses; it is all taken care of. Have as many rounds as you like and a full dinner, on me._

 _As for the_ _little_ _lady of the house; I have arranged for a suitable babysitter to arrive at 6:00, and the enclosed_ —there was a small envelope with some bills I it— _is for the ordering of pizza._

 _Forgive me if I ask too much that you accept this gift as you have the others. I assure you that your enjoyment will please me very much._

 _Have fun!_

A ladies' night. Oh, that sounded _so perfect_. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten to be young and reckless. Or rather, with Gwen around, young and terribly silly. Anything but a lone, responsible mum.

 _Maybe this guy_ _is_ _gay. He certainly understands women…_

Her phone vibrated in her palm.

 _Did you just invite me to dinner in York?_

Anna. She would be 'calling bird' number three…

 _-Ah, yes. I'll explain about the summons later. Can you come?_

 _I'll be there with bells on! It will be so good to see you!_

Edith grinned. Now who would be number four…?

 _Hey sis! I put Tom on kid duty for tonight so we are on! How did you manage The Blue Finch?_

 _-Long Story. Can't wait to see you!_

"Mama?"

Edith turned at the sound of her daughter's voice. There she stood, eyes fixed excitedly on the envelope in Edith's hand.

"Did Santa bring us another present?!"

"Erm…yes, sort of. This one is for mummy and Aunt Sybil and Ms. Gwen and Ms. Anna. Santa is sending us to a special restaurant for dinner tonight."

"Oh," to her credit, the girl was only slightly crestfallen.

"Oh but honey, you get to stay here with a babysitter and have pizza and watch Christmas movies. Doesn't that sound like fun? And, you can have some of your special hot cocoa, how about that?"

Marigold nodded, though clearly she wasn't completely won over. Why would Santa brings gifts to a mum and skip the child? _Because,_ Edith thought humorously, _he isn't a plump old white-haired bishop,_ _he's a young, thin, dark-haired gay man…_ But as she thought it, it occurred to her that perhaps the man who had made the order hadn't been the one retrieving it from Nugent's. Certainly the giver appeared to have the money to employ something like a personal secretary… What if he was the one writing the notes as dictated? Perhaps the giver wasn't a man after all… And suddenly she was reexamining everything she thought she knew about her 'true love.' _Oh dear, I suppose I really haven't learned anything at all…_

X

X

X

 _Ding-dong._

Edith lurched in the direction of the front door with her hand still at her ear, hooking in her earring. She finished the task and hurried down the hall, throwing open the door to behold:

"Daisy!"

The petite girl broke out in smiles and came forward to accept the hug Edith offered.

"You must be home on break! How's culinary school?"

"It's great! You look fantastic!" Daisy eyed Edith's ensemble approvingly. It wasn't much—just a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a blouse she'd repurposed from her work wardrobe. However, with the right accessories, hair, and high-heeled boots…

"Thank you. Oh Marigold," Edith called down the hallway, "Come see who's going to hang out with you tonight."

There was a rumble of small feet and then Marigold emerged into the living room, Barbie in hand.

"Miss Daisy!" Marigold exclaimed, running to give that worthy a hug. "Mama says we can order pizza and watch Christmas movies!"

"Actually," Daisy moved to the door where she had dropped two large red bags. "How would you like to make a gingerbread house?"

Marigold's enthusiastic assent made both women laugh.

"Thank you Daisy, that's sweet of you."

"Just following orders," Daisy said merrily. "These totes arrived with my sitting instructions and _quite_ the wage! Tell me you have some idea what this is all about?"

"Well, yes and no… You see—"

"It's Santa!" Marigold trumpeted gleefully. "He _did_ bring something for me! He brought my friend Miss Daisy to have a slumber party, and I'm going to make _gingerbread_!"

And with that, the six year old danced excitedly into the kitchen.

X

X

X

Edith sat in a booth at The Blue Finch, with Sybil, Anna, and Gwen gaping at her.

"But who could it be? Cousin Isobel? Granny? Mama?" Sybil guessed.

Edith shook her head. "I don't think so. Especially not as things stand right now…"

Sybil frowned. "Papa's just being…"

"I've also considered, "Edith continued, ignoring the sting that manifested at the mention of her father, "my coworkers at Horizons or the home. But they couldn't do all this," Edith waved a hand at their posh surroundings.

The Blue Finch, had a vaguely Brazilian theme (the origin if its namesake), but overall it evoked early American jazz clubs—sleek, metallic, and moodily lit. However, as a nod to the season its blue velvet interior was augmented with multicolored Christmas lights.

"Well, if it's not family, and it's not someone from work, then it must be a _secret admirer_ ," Anna teased. "It's actually rather romantic."

"And slightly _creepy_ ," Gwen opined.

"What do you mean?" asked Sybil.

"'My true love gave to me?'" Gwen quoted. "How do you know whoever it is doesn't want something from you when the twelve days run out?"

There was a short silence as all four ladies contemplated this distasteful possibility, and Edith forbore to mention that there was a chance her mystery gifter was gay. However, the more she dwelled on the idea that this gay man _wasn't_ the sender, the more it seemed the truth. Her silly romantic wishful thinking, she supposed…

"I don't think so," Edith said at last. "I mean, it's just a gut feeling, but he doesn't seem like he's being coercive, just, generous."

"He?" Anna questioned.

Edith shrugged. "The handwriting looks like a man's."

"Edith dear, I hate to tell you this, but so does yours," Sybil teased.

Edith grinned in self-mockery, "I know."

There was a ripple of laughter.

"Well then, let's choose to believe it's a dashing gentleman with romantic intentions who just wants to give you and Marigold a Merry Christmas," Sybil said rousingly.

"What good is it for him to be dashing if he remains anonymous?" Gwen quipped cheekily.

"Come on then," Anna said, over the ensuing ruckus, "If I get to be a part of these 'romantic intentions' I'm going to enjoy myself!"

All four ladies burst into giggles.

XXX

Anthony raised his head at the cascade of feminine mirth, which spilled over the festively lit barrier behind him. A grin twitched at the corners of his mouth that he couldn't keep entirely free of self-satisfaction.

"Sounds like _someone_ is having a good time," Thomas remarked.

Anthony didn't respond, but doused his grin in a sip of his Gin & Ginger. He hadn't exactly _planned_ to spy on Edith's night out, but the knowledge of where she was going to be had proved too much for his self-control. He hadn't been certain she would accept what was admittedly a fairly lavish gift, and he'd reasoned that by coming himself he'd be able to tell whether or not the reservations had gone to waste. To say thanks for his help with some of the arrangements, he'd invited Thomas, who knew him well enough to see straight through his flimsy pretext.

"Why don't you go say hello?" Thomas prompted. "You're obviously besotted."

"Hardly," Anthony replied calmly, though he felt a thrill of recognition course through him at his friend's words. He _was_ besotted. With the memory of the women he knew, if nothing else. And making these gifts to her had stirred something, had reawakened the connection between them, albeit unconsciously on her part, and he found himself drawn to strengthen that bond. For all his arguments of yesterday, his decision to stay away, he'd thought about Edith all night, and when he closed his eyes, she'd appeared in his dreams.

"I just wanted to ensure that she was enjoying herself."

"Right," Thomas scoffed good-naturedly, "You came all the way out here just to _check_ on her."

"It's hardly the North Pole. I'll also point out that the whole purpose of this evening was that it be a _ladies_ night. Meaning she doesn't need to be pestered by a tired old—"

"Partridge?" Thomas supplied. Anthony cracked a smile.

"Something like that," he muttered.

"So, you're just going to sit here, pining, buying me excellent liquor?"

"Yep."

"Suit yourself."

Both men fell silent as they sampled said excellent liquor, only to be assaulted by another effusion of giggles.

"Alright, I'll go get the next!" a thickly accented voice announced, and moments later a striking redhead that Anthony noticed as Gwen from his preparatory social media snooping emerged, walking in sure strides over to the bar.

Anthony watched as she ordered, noting her bright green minidress which showed a generous quantity of her red-stockinged legs and thinking that he wouldn't have minded if it had been Edith to go get the drinks. He smirked at such an animal thought. He'd always found Edith attractive, without any intentions. But if he opened his eyes and Edith's slim legs were before him, he was entitled to enjoy the view, wasn't he? The same went for that beguiling little upturn in her top lip just at her cupid's bow, or those warm brown eyes, especially whe- _Hang on! What the devil?!_

His brain registered alarm seconds before comprehension. He'd been only idly watching the bar, his mind occupied by more pleasurable contemplations. Just as he had been appreciating Edith's physical charms, so too a lone man at one end of the bar—whose features Anthony could only describe as rodent-like—had been assessing Gwen. He'd edged his way closer to where she was chatting with the barkeep as he prepared her drinks. And as the first of these had been laid down beside her, the man had—Anthony could hardly believe the perversity of it— _he'd reached into his pocket and_ —

Urgency moved him to action. He stood, maneuvering swiftly past tables and chairs to the bar where Gwen had just begun to reach for her martini. Before her hand could fasten on the glass, Anthony snatched it up, holding it just beyond her grasp like some kind of petulant schoolboy.

"Steady on!" the native Yorkshire-woman bellowed indignantly.

"Forgive me, but I think you'll find you want to order another drink," Anthony explained coolly. "I believe this—" he turned to the weasel-nosed man where he hunkered over the bar a few feet away, "is yours?"

The man grinned in what Anthony supposed he thought was a winning manner. "It's not mine. Why don't you stop harassing the lady?"

"Yeah!" Gwen punctuated.

"Funny. After I saw you put something in it, I thought perhaps _you'd_ like to drink it."

Gwen's mouth fell open, her eyes narrowing.

"Put something in it?!" she spat at the ferret, her full fury focused upon him like a shriveling lazer-beam.

Even as she shouted it, two burly gentlemen appeared from nowhere and hauled the villain to his feet. He was marched through a doorway off the bar, where, the barkeep assured them, he would await the police.

After he'd gone, Gwen let out a shaky breath.

"Jesus," she whispered. Then aloud she said. "Thank you."

"I'm only glad I could be there before something dreadful happened."

She shook her head. "I'm with three other girls, so it wasn't like he was going to get away with anything. But it would've put a damper on ladies night."

He rewarded her attempt at levity with a bright smile. Her face, flushed scarlet with rage and fear minutes earlier, was returning to its normal color, and she seemed to be calming down.

"Well, we can't have that. Have you ever tried the Brigadeiro Cake here miss—"

"Dawson," she supplied genially.

"Dawson. I daresay you and your friends would enjoy it. There's nothing like chocolate to banish the beasties."

"How does it do with _rats_?" she tossed her head towards the doorway through which her attacker had disappeared.

"I'm told that it vaporizes them completely," he said, fixing her with a kind smile.

She returned it gratefully.

XXX

Edith had come to stand in the aisle upon hearing Gwen's raised voice. She'd recognized Anthony Strallan at once, his lean figure with its lanky grace as he plucked the glass from the bar, and boldly dispatched the scumbag who'd attempted to drug her friend like some kind of avenging knight. God, that was so like Anthony. And now he was chatting amiably with Gwen, teasing her, calming her with that inherently generous spirit that she remembered so well. He flashed a familiar sympathetic smile, and she knew exactly how his eyes glimmered with compassion and warmth…

Something painful twisted in her gut. Of all things, she was _jealous_! It wasn't surprising that Anthony was attracted to Gwen. She was like catnip to men…. Red hair, feisty temper, and enough confidence to light the sun. This wasn't the first time she'd envied her friend's magnetism, but it was the first time it _really_ stung. Because the man she had in thrall was not some nameless hopeful that they would later commiserate over. The man she had in thrall was _Anthony_.

Though why that should throw her into a tizzy she couldn't _quite_ articulate.

As she watched, Gwen started heading back towards her, Anthony chivalrously carrying half the drinks and a mountain of chocolate cake behind her.

"This is Anthony," she announced. "He comes bearing cake. Think we can find room for him?"

"Good Evening, Sir Anthony," Sybil greeted, a trifle too prim for their surroundings.

"You know him?" Gwen queried.

"Oh, yes. Anthony is-an old friend," Edith said, feeling her cheeks color.

At the sound of her voice, he directed his sterling blue gaze upon her. Edith felt a current of sheer contentment melt through her, like standing before a fireplace after playing in the snow. His eyes were the same—just as kind, just as merry, just as enchanting. And the genuine pleasure writ on his face at seeing her replaced the tight envy in her stomach with a light fluttery sensation.

As for Anthony—he realized his memories had never quite captured the vibrancy of Edith. She fairly glowed, from her coy little dimples to her shining brown eyes. And as for enjoying the view—her legs were clad in denim it was true, but it displayed her shapely legs to charming effect, and her deep red blouse floated around her slender arms and dipped to reveal an enticing stretch of breastbone-where glittered-his breath caught—a familiar silver bird.

"Sir Anthony, please join us," Anna was urging.

He tore his gaze from Edith.

"Oh, no, I couldn't-." He demurred. "I'm actually here with a friend. He's—"

Thomas was lounging in their booth, watching the proceedings with an amused eye.

"Oh, well, he can come too!" Gwen waved him over.

With his cat-like grace, Thomas eased out of his seat and stalked over to join them, a glass in each hand.

"Thomas?" Anna greeted. "I thought that was you." To the rest she explained. "He dated my brother for a while in secondary."

"Rather broke my heart," Thomas commented without melancholy.

"Yes, well, just because he's my brother doesn't mean he has any sense," Anna replied warmly. "Looks like you've been…"

The chatter continued as the party moved back to the girl's booth, and chairs acquired to accommodate two new additions. But Edith stopped listening as her mind raced. She recognized Mr. Barrow from the real estate office. But she'd never have guessed he and Anthony were friends. _And if Anthony was here_ _with_ _Thomas, did that mean…? It_ _had_ _been seven plus years, maybe somewhere in that time Anthony had…._

Thankfully, Anna asked before she had to. "So, are you and Anthony….?"

"Oh! _No. Nooooo,_ " Thomas asserted, eliciting a mockingly indignant look from Anthony. "As is evidenced by your brother, I don't go for the aristocratic selfless type."

He punctuated this last with a sly glance at turned questioning eyes towards him but he showed no more signs of having made any particular communication with her at all. He turned away and she found herself frowning at the back of his head, his dark locks cropped neatly at his nape… Her mind stirred at a thought. A _tall, dark, ga-_ Just at that moment, Anthony bent to say something and her train of thought rattled off course. Her calculations were replaced by a languid fuzz—as if someone had toppled her antenna and now all she got was gray static. Due to the crowded nature of the booth she and Anthony were crammed almost on top of one another, and in order to speak to her over the din, he had to bring his mouth even closer. She could feel his warm breath glancing over the sensitive contours of her neck and earlobe. It was a delicious sensation, sending little currents of awareness crackling through her. This was something about Anthony she _didn't_ remember. She'd been attracted to him before but it hadn't been this… _electric_. Then again, he'd kept her at a fairly strict arm's length, and he'd never put his lips so close to places she was now wishing he'd taste…

Edith looked up from her sensual stupor and met her sister's keen gaze. Of all of the 'birds' gathered tonight, Sybil was the only one who knew what she and Anthony had been to one another. She lifted an eyebrow and executed the subtlest of winks.

"I'm so sorry, what was that?" Edith managed to mumble, shifting from her sister's eyes to Anthony's brilliant blue ones.

"I was just remarking on your necklace. Is that a turtledove?"

"Oh," Edith drew a finger over the small silver bird. "Yes. It was a gift. There's one for me, and one for my daughter Marigold."

 _Marigold!_ Anthony rejoiced. A name at last! But the alluring private smile she'd displayed as she explained her gift swiftly hardened, and she diverted her gaze. It took his alcohol and lust-fogged brain several seconds to figure out what had caused her sudden anxiety. Marigold. She was afraid of what he might think about her, and the circumstances of her birth. Worse, she was bracing herself for his censure.

"Well, turtledoves _are_ symbols of eternal love," he said gently, "and it's clear you love your daughter very much."

Her jaw relaxed and she met his eyes once more. "I do."

Anthony's heart began to thump in his chest. Sitting there, gazing up at him with such trust, such fondness, such _welcome,_ he found her utterly entrancing. Her ready willingness to rekindle their former relationship called out to something lonely and longing within him, and he leaned into the gentle comfort she offered; golden-haired and glimmering, and smelling of warm vanilla…

"Er," Anna's voice penetrated the soft brilliance that was Edith, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've got to use the loo."

Anthony blinked, realizing that he must've been staring at Edith like a simpleton for God knew how long.

"Oh, yes, I'll go with you," Edith murmured, shuffling past to the end of the bench.

Thomas leaned over and muttered, "How's the 'check-up' going old man?"

Anthony smirked good-naturedly, but his eyes followed Edith's retreating form.

XXX

In the bathroom Edith wet her hands and brought them to her flushed face. My goodness, that had been… Fantastic, exhilarating, intoxicating… But God, she hadn't seen the man in years, hadn't exchanged more than five sentences with him. She didn't even know if he was the same person.

But she _did_ know. The Anthony she had known would stand up for Gwen like he did. Would support _her_ even after she'd conceived a child out of wedlock… She smiled to herself. Her mysterious "true love" couldn't have known what a gift they'd given her by sending her to The Blue Finch tonight. Anthony Strallan was back in her life. And this time, she wasn't going to let him slip away…


	5. Golden Geese

**A/N: Wow. Well, that was longer than I planned. Let's just say that as a wife and mother there are weeks when it's difficult to find time to shut out all else and write. I truly** _ **am**_ **sorry, and I truly am** _ **immensely**_ **grateful if you're still reading. Holiday stories can seem out of step once the holiday passes, and here we are approaching Valentine's Day! I** _ **will**_ **finish this story, and in the spirit of the original gift, the finale will be brimming with the Christmas Spirit, which may not land right** _ **now**_ **, but that just means you'll have to come back and re-read this one next year.** **Once again, thank you for coming back if you have, and for your forbearance as life hands me delays.**

* * *

 **Part V – Golden Geese**

Anthony lay in bed, mid-morning sun pushing against his curtains.

 _Five golden rings…._ He mused. _Five golden rings…_

All through his shower he pondered and brainstormed. Over breakfast, he consulted Google. His problem was that he was having trouble getting past the obvious: giving Edith jewelry. Google images certainly agreed with him, featuring an evocatively clad woman sporting a large finger ring, two golden hoops at her ears, a curling cuff on one upper arm, and a golden anklet above one foot. An enticing prospect to be sure, however, that was not the nature of these gifts, and it would leave out Marigold. Besides, if Edith were going to bedeck herself in such a fashion, he wanted to be able to enjoy it.

No, he needed something else with rings… And then an idea hit him. He Googled. _4\. 13. Ha-5! Neptune has_ _five_ _rings_! Now, what to do with that….? _There must be a planetarium somewhere nearby…_

As his transaction processed, his mind wandered. To Edith, of course. It seemed he thought of little else the past few days. And last night…it had been _so good_ to see her, to physically be in the same space as her once again. Seeing her smile, hearing her voice, knowing her thoughts…seemingly small pleasures that filled him with a sublime contentment that he hadn't realized he was missing. It was as if he'd awakened from an emotional amnesia last night, as if his soul went 'O _h yes. That's how_ _good_ _it was.'_ Except somehow it was better than he remembered. Perhaps it was the holiday spirit, or alternatively, the holiday _spirits_ , that had made him more vulnerable, less guarded than before, and in turn had intensified his attraction to Edith.

By the end of the night he'd certainly moved beyond merely "besotted," selfishly wishing he could have her all to himself, to be able to delve beneath the quick-witted, flirtatious banter necessitated by a group outing. Not that he hadn't liked her friends, or her convivial attitude. He'd enjoyed the evening immensely, and brought home a slight ache in his abdomen from laughing so hard.

A confirmation email blinged into his inbox, letting him know his order was complete. The planetarium was in Middlesbrough, not too far a drive. Still, it would be nice for Edith and Marigold to have dinner nearby… It might be too much for the mysterious benefactor to give her another dinner after the scale of last night's gift. However, as Anthony Strallan… And, if he were going to buy them dinner, might as well…

X

X

X

"What is it?" Marigold chirped, crawling across the sofa to lean over her mother's shoulder.

"It's passes to the Science Center in Middlesbrough, _and_ tickets to a show at the planetarium."

"What's a planetarium?"

"It's a special theatre shaped like the night sky. This show is about the Christmas star."

"Cool!"

"So what do you think? You wanna hop up and get ready to go?"

"Yeah!"

And the little girl did literally that, springing from the couch and hurrying down the hall. Edith followed after.

 _Did you know that Neptune has five rings? Hope you'll enjoy these passes for a more low-key outing._

X

X

X

Edith laid her daughter's hoodie across her lap, adroitly extracting the reversed sleeves from where it had just been peeled off. December was starting to show its true colors, and there'd been extra bundling today. However, here in the planetarium it was crowded and slightly stuffy, with an air of anticipation as soft colorful lights illuminated the arced screen above. Several children bounced in their seats, as Marigold now did, all decked out in their holiday best.

"Look, mama!" the girl exclaimed, pointing to the shooting stars that were now beginning to soar across the ceiling.

Similar exclamations rang throughout the theatre, as the music started and the lights began to dim. Unconsciously, Edith looked down into her lap to check that both coats plus a hoodie plus her purse were there (typical mom security), and out of the corner of her eye she caught the impression of a tall figure slipping into a seat in the back row. Her mind automatically went to Anthony, as it had often in the past 20 hours. She turned to get a better look—and lo and behold, it _was_ him! She smiled and raised one hand in a little silent wave.

"Hi," she mouthed.

He grinned back and sent his own "Hello."

And then the ceiling erupted into color.

XXX

The show ended, and Edith performed her check once again to make sure they weren't leaving anything behind. As she ushered Marigold towards the exit, she was aware of a slight anxiety. It was clear they were going to run into Anthony in the lobby, which meant she'd have to introduce Marigold. And a small part of her worried that he wouldn't like her, that he'd be put off by her maternal behavior. When he'd known her before she was far from motherhood, and last night she'd left that part of herself at home. It would be such a disappointment if Marigold scared him away, if he proved to be a lesser man than she took him for, just as they were…rekindling their friendship. _Or whatever it was._

It was then with delight and relief that she witnessed the delighted smile that lit Anthony's face as they approached.

"Hello! I never guessed I'd meet you here today," Anthony said cheerfully. "How did you like the show?"

This was half-directed at Marigold, eyes twinkling.

She decided to reply.

"I liked the part where the stars danced!" she enthused, referring to the second part of the program, which was set to popular Christmas tunes, everything from White Christmas to Tchaikovsky's Russian Dance.

"I think that was my favorite part too!" Anthony agreed.

"Marigold, this is my friend Anthony. Anthony, this is my daughter, Marigold."

As Edith watched, Anthony kneeled down and put out his hand beseechingly, affecting the posture of a knight-errant.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady," he said gravely, before cracking a mischievous grin.

Those kind blue eyes and affable smile charmed daughter just as easily as they had mother. Marigold leaned forward and ringed her arms about Anthony's neck for a swift hug.

"It's nice to meet you, Anthony."

Then, all business, she turned to her mother. "Can we go to the play area?"

Edith chuckled.

"Yes dear."

She and Anthony followed the trail of children trooping towards the science center's discovery play area, featuring an intricate system of air pressure pipes through which colorful balls whizzed, a play spaceship with gears and lights and _two_ oversized steering wheels, and a giant foam climb-on model of the solar system. While they settled themselves on a bench against the wall, Marigold shucked her shoes and made for the model of Neptune—balancing on two of its five rings.

Anthony felt a giddy laugh threaten to burst out of him. To see Marigold literally standing on his secret gift—it was just too much fun. Not to mention her socks were the reindeer ones he'd picked out for her, and she and Edith were wearing their matching necklaces. Even better, while Marigold played, he had Edith all to himself.

"I see Marigold is wearing her necklace today," he couldn't resist observing.

"Oh yes. She's hardly taken it off since we got them three days ago. It makes her feel very grown up to have the same necklace mummy has."

"She also shares her mummy's good looks," he said kindly, "she's lovely. You must be very proud."

Edith smiled the tender proud smile of all mothers.

"I am, of course. Though I'm not sure how much credit I can take."

"All of it, of course. Everyone knows—"

"Darling, remember to take turns!" Edith called suddenly. She turned to Anthony with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. You were saying?"

Anthony chuckled. "You've become quite the mum," he complimented.

Edith sighed melodramatically. "And don't I know it," she said.

"Surely it can't be _that_ bad," he teased.

"Oh no, I love Marigold. It's just—parenting is definitely something that was meant to be done by two, and doing it one-handed…takes a lot out of you."

They were veering dangerously close to talking about Marigold's father, and though Anthony was naturally curious, he wanted to spare Edith the pain of recollection. So he said nothing.

"But I suppose I brought it on myself," Edith sighed, not without some bitterness.

A beat passed. Anthony still wasn't sure what to say, not wanting to make Edith feel worse. He hated himself for unwittingly steering the conversation down this path.

She gave a small huffing laugh. "It's funny that they used to talk of a woman being 'compromised.' Because that's so much of it. I compromised."

Edith wasn't sure why she was abruptly pouring out the quite intimate details of her emotional blunders with Michael. Except that she _wanted_ to. She wanted Anthony to understand; because she trusted him as she always had, to know the worst of her and still be on her side.

She gave a melancholy little shrug.

"Which sounds like an excuse. I could say I thought I was protected. Or that I didn't realize the risks. But that wouldn't be true." Her eyes scanned the play area as she talked. "It all comes down to the little coercions that you allow when you don't want to lose someone. You think 'it can't do that much harm. We'll be careful.' You think you're both in the same place, want the same things. After all, you're in love. And then, when the going gets rough, you find out that's not the case."

She sighed.

"But I do love Marigold. I wouldn't trade her for the world."

"Are you sure? Because I just happen to have a world I'm looking to get rid of," he joked, and she gave a wry grin.

"No thank you."

"Is Marigold excited for Christmas?" he asked, steering the conversation into less stormy waters.

"Yes," Edith replied, "only I'm not sure she understands that it won't really be much. We're not going to my folks this year. But I'll save that sob story for another time."

"Well if it helps, I'm happy to hear that one too," he offered, his smile as compassionate as ever.

So Edith told him about last Christmas, when talk had turned to careers, plans, the future. Edith had tried to stave off questions about her finances, prospects, etc. Michael and Marigold had arisen in a roundabout way, and then her father had peevishly said:

"Can we talk about something else? This topic is giving me a bad taste in my mouth."

"I'm sorry?" Edith had retorted.

"It's just, talking about Marigold and how she….makes me….uncomfortable."

And Edith had erupted in a hurt and angry defense of her daughter. Which had only caused Robert to rail louder, bolster up his defenses and preach about children out of wedlock and proper behavior until Edith had fled upstairs, angry tears burning against her cheeks. She and Marigold had made a swift departure from Downton shortly thereafter.

At the end of the story, Anthony blinked.

"It's funny. In some ways that sounds just like Robert. And in other ways it sounds nothing like him."

"Really?" she scoffed.

"He loves his children and grandchildren dearly. He has always been devoted to you all. I can't imagine him rejecting one of them, no matter what the…circumstance of their birth."

Edith's sigh was heavier, more guttural this time, as if pushing past a heavy lump.

"Well, anyway, _that's_ why we aren't going to the Abbey for Christmas."

"I'm sure you'll be very merry, just the two of you," Anthony said kindly.

"Yes, well…" Edith hesitated. Should she tell Anthony about "Santa?" After everything she'd just dumped on him, it was silly, but for some reason it felt, rather like introducing your fiancé to your ex. Which was terribly absurd. An yet… "…I think we will," she finished simply.

 _You certainly will, if I have anything to do with it_ , Anthony thought. But aloud he said,

"Say, I was planning to have dinner at a little place just down the block. Would you and Marigold care to join me?"

"Oh," Edith's face grew wary, he could almost hear coins clinking into piles in her brain as she did her calculations, "I don't know."

"I'd be so pleased if you did. My treat," he offered.

"Oh no! I couldn't ask you to do that! Anthony it's darling of you but—"

"You let me join _your_ dinner last night. It's the least I can do," he insisted.

"Anthony, you know that's not…"

"Unless you don't want to have dinner with me," he said, knitting his brows in a beleaguered frown.

She laughed.

"Alright. You win."

Just at that moment, Marigold appeared at her elbow.

"Mama, I'm _hungry_ ," she pronounced.

"Hang on," Anthony said in exaggerated confusion, "I thought you said your name was _Marigold_."

Marigold giggled. Edith grinned. And Anthony soared.

XXX

Making Marigold laugh seemed to be Anthony's particular mission for the whole of their dinner at a local family-friendly pie shop; pulling faces, drawing silly pictures on the paper tablecloth, even conjuring shillings from Marigold's ears. Naturally Edith was powerless against such a barrage. Watching Anthony's paternal display, the simmering attraction of the evening before roared to voracious life. She examined him, wondering if the Anthony of before had been good with children. It occurred to her that there was so much she hadn't noticed about him then; things that seemed so obvious now. Yet some of this had to be new. This confidence, a sense of cat that ate the canary that made him bolder than she remembered. Like following her and Marigold to Middlesbrough…

But then, she reminded herself, he couldn't have known she and Marigold were going to be here. Her tickets had come from "true love." Though it certainly was _quite_ the coincidence that he should be all the way out here, at the same show she and Marigold were attending… And he fit the profile: wealthy, local, generous, _handsome_ … But there was no way Anthony had access to her financial records. He probably had barely even thought of her in the intervening years, much less scrutinized her bank statements. She was just conflating Anthony with "true love" because she was beginning to have amorous feelings towards him.

"Do I have something in my teeth?" Anthony teased, breaking into her reverie.

"Oh, uh no, sorry."

"Mama," Marigold chimed in, "have I earned dessert?"

X

X

X

"Hmmm…" Edith scrolled through the online catalog for The Tailor's Goose _,_ a vintage clothing boutique for which "true love" had sent giftcards for she and Marigold

 _From the 16th Century to the 19th, a tailor's 'goose' was an iron with a curved handle in the nature of a goose's neck. Today it is a premiere online clothier. This should cover three items a piece for you and the little lady, as befits the day. Enjoy!_

Marigold had already picked out a sweet little plaid pinafore jumper, a pair of high-waisted 1930's overalls, and a vibrant purple double-breasted midcentury raincoat. At length, Edith selected her items: first, a work outfit: a beautifully tailored Edwardian inspired blouse and a complementary high-waisted skirt. But for her third she chose something less practical and a little more daring. An evening dress in a 1940's style; a fantasy of subtly clinging chiffon with an elegant cascading skirt and long sleeves; shot with stripes of glistening gold sequins. It looked like something Ginger Rogers would wear, and she knew part of the reason she was attracted to it was the idea of Anthony standing in for Fred Astaire. Ok, perhaps it was quite a _lot_ of the reason. She was well aware that she'd never find an opportunity to wear such a gown unless Anthony asked her to some swanky function. She didn't move in those circles these days. She was betting an awful lot on her own attraction without being exactly certain of his. It wasn't the first time she'd thought they were close to something wonderful, and the last time he'd not only _not_ asked her out, they'd become estranged for the better part of a decade. There was a decent chance the beautiful gown would just sit in her closet. But heck, this was meant to be a gift, right?

Having finished her order, she closed her laptop and sighed lazily. Marigold looked up from where she was playing on the floor with a few toy horses, enjoying her first day off school for the holidays.

"Mama," the little girl rose and came to plop herself down next to her mum.

"Yes sweetheart?" Edith idly reached a hand to tousle her daughter's hair.

"Is Santa going to bring me anything on Christmas?"

"What?"

"Well, he's bringing all these presents for us _before_ Christmas. Will he bring me anything _for_ Christmas?"

"Don't you like your gifts?"

"Yes. I do! But, they're not what I _asked_ for."

Edith felt her spirits droop a little. "True love" couldn't help her there. Too bad she didn't actually have a line to Santa.

"Well," Edith said trying to sound cheerful, "we'll just have to wait and see. Maybe he decided to give you all your presents early. But hey," she tilted her daughter's face gently so that she looked her squarely in the eyes, "gifts aren't what's important."

Marigold nodded. "What's important is family and friends," she recited. "Like Mr. Anthony."

Edith's gloom dissipated instantly. She smiled.

"You like Mr. Anthony?"

In response, Marigold gave a series of exaggerated nods.

Edith chuckled and swept her daughter into a hug. "You silly goose. I love you."

And then, as her mother started tickling her, all the girl could do was squeal and giggle.

X

X

X

X

X

The next day's gift arrived by special delivery that evening.

 _This one is simple (and a bit of cheat, as you'll see). Thirsk is hosting a Holiday Faire. I believe you and Miss Marigold will have a good time._

 _And I hope that you both have a very Merry Christmas_.

XXX


	6. Hearts A-Humming

**A/N: Well this is LATE. Not only did I start this fic a YEAR ago, it's long past Christmas by now. My apologies Spottedhorse and all. I've got some major life changes coming at me, which somewhat overshadowed Christmas this year and stifled my muse for a while. But never fear, this story (which, as planned has one final installment) will be finished, with luck before twelfth night. My apologies again for the delay.**

 **This chapter is affectionately dedicated to all of you who have read and supported my work over the years, been patient with my absences, and offered numerous kind words when I was down; and especially to Spottedhorse whose Christmas present will hopefully be finished soon; Kyrandiana, who kindly nudged me more than once to finish this story; and Kymby67, whose Christmas season appears to have been far more stressful than her good soul deserves.**

 **MERRY CHRISTMAS & HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL YOU LOVELIES!**

* * *

 **Part VI: Hearts A-Humming**

 _This one is simple (and a bit of cheat, as you'll see). Thirsk is hosting a Holiday Faire. I believe you and Miss Marigold will have a good time._

 _And I hope that you both have a very Merry Christmas_.

X

X

X

Anthony took a savoring breath, inhaling crisp December, seasoned with chocolate and citrus, sweet batter and fried meat. Jangly carols echoed through the chill, and jolly colored lights beckoned from every tree and lamppost. Thirsk had turned its market square into a Christmas wonderland, crammed with stalls and tents, performance platforms, food vendors, a few rides-and a Father Christmas, of course. It was this worthy that Anthony was wending towards, threading through the faire's first arrivals and hoping that he'd beaten Edith and Marigold.

Through a candy cane archway beneath a festooned marquee atop a gilded throne sat the merry monarch of the season. As Anthony approached, the bewhiskered benefactor was smiling benignly as a mum snapped a photo of her two little boys, each perched on one red-velvet knee. The iphone clicked, the boys scurried off, and Anthony strode forward.

"A little old to be making requests of Father Christmas," the saint teased. "Besides, those stork legs of yours won't fit on my lap."

Anthony chuckled. He liked Albert Mason, the local fellow his company had sponsored to be Father Christmas for the faire. He was a Yorkshireman, born and bred, and full of the homey wisdom of the county.

"As a matter of fact, I've come to discuss a little lady that I'm certain is on your 'nice' list. Miss Marigold Crawley."

"Crawley?" Mr. Mason raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, Lady Edith's daughter."

"I see," was all the man said, but the casual utterance held a wealth of meaning.

"Yes, well. I was hoping we might make a deal, dear Santa. I'd be obliged if you'd pass along her Christmas wishes to a certain overgrown elf who'd like to see them granted."

"Ahhh? That's the way of things, is it?" Mr. Mason considered, and gave a little approving nod. "Come to think of it, makes perfect sense."

Anthony nodded, his lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile.

Mr. Mason chuckled.

"Don't worry. She'd be lucky to have you."

"Yes, well, er…" Anthony looked around for an escape, and looked gratefully into the impatient eyes of a young lady of about six. "I won't take up any more of your time, Santa."

Anthony ducked out of the tent. Now all he had to do was wait for Edith and Marigold. He felt a thrill of excitement bubble up in his chest and grinned. "On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me…" he sang under his breath, and plunged into the gathering crowd.

X

X

Edith and Marigold rumbled along towards Thirsk, bundled and brimming with excitement. Marigold was filled with anticipation at the delights that a country Christmas faire might hold, and Edith…she couldn't quite define what she was expecting. But instinct told her that something special was going to happen today, and set her blood skipping and dancing like a set of sugarplum fairies. Perhaps it was merely that she'd convinced herself that Anthony would be at the faire, and after the way he'd looked at her as they bid farewell at her car on Sunday…

She reminded her fluttering heart that there was good probability that Anthony would _not_ be in Thirsk. But she couldn't help wondering if the faire held some clues to the identity of "true love." It hadn't escaped her notice that his (if indeed it was a he) last missive had seemed rather conclusive, or that, having referred to Marigold as "the little lady" he'd suddenly called her by name. She frowned thoughtfully.

"We're here!" Marigold announced from the back seat.

And indeed they were. Just ahead was a cluster of white tents, the whirling crown of a carousel glowing behind them. Edith followed the signs for parking, presented their tickets (courtesy of "true love") at the entrance, and attempted to peruse the program of events as Marigold tugged her along. As she did so, she understood what true love had meant by cheating. He was hitting all the final days of the carol in one go. There was a presentation from the York School of Dance of "The Twelve Dancing Princesses" –that would be ladies dancing and lords a-leaping, creamery icecream and homemade eggnog-both of which could pass for maids a-milking, and a parade of lights which featured a pipe and drum corps for eleven and twelve. Now where was swans a-swimming…? But when she looked up, it was staring her in the face. Six glittering winter swans (each festooned with a red and green plaid neck bow) glided and spun at the ends of large mechanical arms. Inside each, giggling and shrieking children lurched and rotated with glee. Marigold had led her straight into the queue for the ride. She grinned.

XXX

Anthony rambled around a corner, idly surveying the crowd. His gaze caught on a shimmer of golden blonde…and there she was, smiling and waving at someone on the "Winter Swanderland" ride. Her eyes found his, and her smile changed, brightened, curved around a secret…and utterly beguiled him.

"Hello," he greeted, feeling slightly breathless as he reached her.

"I rather hoped you'd be here," she said, sounding a little airy herself.

Just at that moment, Marigold came trotting over.

"Hello, Anthony!"

"Miss Marigold," Anthony said, dragging his eyes from Edith's shining ones, and proffering his elbow towards her daughter, "I was hoping you might consent to let me escort you around the faire. What do you say?"

"Ok!" Marigold readily agreed, disdaining the elbow and hurrying ahead.

"Wait for us dear," Edith called gaily, hooking her arm into Anthony's as they gave chase.

The next hours were utter heaven, Edith thought. While she, Anthony, and Marigold engaged in seemingly mundane activities—wandering from booth to booth, exploring wares, sampling cookies; riding the carousel, and the bumper cars, and a ride called "Santa's Flight"-Edith felt her heart floating high above. To have a partner—someone to help entertain and protect Marigold as they moved through the crowds, to support her and make her feel secure, important, special…filled Edith with a glow that could rival even the brightest Christmas lights.

As they strolled, her eyes kept finding Anthony's—clear blue, sparkling with merriment, and admiration, and something more… She felt that something set her heart to humming, sending out heady waves of hope, an irresistible voice that whispered that this time things would be different. This time it could be happy ever after.

After lunch, they took in the performances, including the "Twelve Dancing Princesses" ballet. Edith couldn't help but smile at the way Marigold squirmed excitedly, straining to see every detail from their seat in the fourth row. Festive families hemmed them in on both sides, and for the second time in so many days, she was seated practically on top of Anthony. She was keenly aware of the length of his arm and thigh against her own, and when she inhaled she caught hints of a smooth clean scent, skin-heated and distinctly masculine. As youthful dancers leapt and twirled on the stage, Edith imagined nuzzling into that scent, tasting it in the hollow of his throat, _the shadow of his jaw, across his broad chest…_

Edith gave herself a little shake, taking a slow breath of sharp cold air, and willing herself to _get a grip._ He noticed the gesture, and perhaps taking it as a sign of dismay, placed his hand on hers with gentle, reassuring pressure. His brow rose in silent question: _You okay?_

 _I'm just fine, thanks_ , her small smile answered, and she looked back to the spectacle before them, willing her apparently raging libido to calm down. But that seemed impossible when his fingers stayed atop hers. She didn't even try to quash the instinct that made her curl her own around them. His hands were large and warm; his clasp gentle yet strong: _I've got you_ , it seemed to say.

His thumb began to move along the back of her hand, sweeping slow sensual arcs from her wrist to her knuckles. Funny how a simple touch could have so many meanings, how the slightest adjustment in pressure could make the difference between indifference and desire. This one Edith could read perfectly: it bathed her in adoration. Every slow pass of his thumb, fingertip touching mere centimeters of skin, said "this is beautiful, this is of worth, this I want." Ripples of heat and hope echoed out from that small point of contact, encompassing her whole being. "This is beautiful, this I want..." And her heart and body obediently replied, " _yes please_."

The clamor of applause drew Edith from her reverie. With reluctant slowness, Anthony disentangled his fingers. Edith turned to Marigold.

"Did you enjoy the show?" she asked in a voice that sounded distant to her lust-clogged ears.

Marigold voiced her enthusiastic approval and they began to collect their things.

"How about a treat?" Anthony suggested. "I hear one can get a smashing cup of eggnog around here."

"Oh, I don't know," Edith hesitated, her brow furrowing with worry. "Marigold and dairy… I'm not sure, eggnog might still be too rich."

"Why then we'll have to have some wassail instead!" Anthony trumpeted, undeterred. "There's a restaurant just around the corner that's selling quite the brew."

"You certainly know your way around the fair," Edith commented, grinning.

"Ah yes, well, my company is one of the corporate sponsors," he admitted.

Edith nodded, his pronouncement adding to the chorus of facts tumbling through her brain, scraping to find a way to make Anthony the romantic benefactor she wanted him to be. But as she watched him take Margiold's hand to steer her around a cart selling roasted nuts, a tender warmth blossomed in her chest. He _was_ that knight in shining armor. Without any special gifts.

 _And yet…_

They reached the restaurant, which was selling steaming cups of delicious smelling liquid out of a small tent at their storefront. Anthony released the small gloved hand as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"Three cups of wassail, and one of your large gingerbreads, please," he ordered.

He felt more than saw Edith appear at his shoulder.

"You don't have to do that," Edith chided mildly, a refrain she'd been practicing all day, as Anthony insisted on paying for nearly everything Marigold wanted to do.

He shrugged. "It's Christmas. And I don't have anyone else to treat. Besides, Marigold is not just any young lady," he said, encompassing the younger Miss Crawley in his statement. She looked up from where she had been watching a handbell choir performing a few yards away.

"What?" the girl asked, bewildered.

Anthony grinned. "Nothing," he said fondly. Then to Edith he said, still grinning. "You see? Remarkable powers of concentration. "

Edith ducked her head and smiled, and Anthony turned to jot his signature on the receipt.

Beside him, Edith made a faint gasping noise.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, yes," she replied, though she seemed a trifle dazed.

As they sat and sipped their cider, she said little, but rarely took her eyes from him. He felt her gaze like a physical touch; it prickled on his skin and stirred the flames which crackled between them. She only half attended to what Marigold was saying, and her mind seemed to be a million miles away. He couldn't say he blamed her. Charming as Marigold was, the lure of Edith's closeness, her warmth and conviviality, had been dragging _him_ into a realm of daydreams all day. One where her lips tasted of the same sweet vanilla sugar that teased his senses each time she came close; where she looked up at him with those beautiful brown eyes and called him hers.

"Alright, _one_ more ride. But then we have to go find a place for the parade or we'll miss it," Edith was saying to her daughter.

So they walked once again to the swan ride. As they stood in line, he watched the impatient squirm of Edith's shoulders. He got the sense that she wanted to say something, and that she didn't want Marigold around to hear it. After several minutes the line moved forward, and she deposited Marigold on the ride, then retreated purposely to a bench under a tree a few feet away. He followed, loving the way determination made her nose wrinkle just slightly. He had a feeling he was going to receive a mild lecture on the amount of money he had spent on the two Crawley ladies today. He followed her and stood contritely, awaiting his due.

She rounded on him, but she didn't start scolding. Her keen eyes searched his face, then fell briefly to his lips, before locking with his own. She stepped forward slowly, and perhaps he did too, drawn to her sweetness like a bee to honey. Her gaze became soft, deep, purposeful; and his blood responded by racing insistently through his veins. Her hands came to his forearms, and his heart drummed a heady cadence in response. A dozen images flashed through his brain, potent and fleeting as lightning: Edith's hands on him, Edith's body cradled against him, Edith's lips…

"May I try something?" she said calmly.

"Yes," he said on a rush of breath, hoping he'd managed to keep it from sounding like a plea.

And then, as if in answer to his silent, fervent prayer, she was kissing him.

Anthony could still remember how his mother would bake cookies at Christmastime. He'd come home for the Christmas holiday, walk through the front door, and be greeted by the enticing aromas of sugar and chocolate and spice wafting through the house. He'd follow their lure into the kitchens, where he'd be met with a bright smile, a crushing hug, and finally the soul-kindling goodness of a fresh baked cookie. He felt something similar now, Edith's sweetness washing over him, urging him to seek deeper, longer, to discover the elusive source of her delectable, palpable, intoxicating goodness.

And what was more, she kissed him back with an answering hunger, a confident caress of lips that told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted him. He brought his arms around her waist, pulling her close, delighting in the feel of her slender curves pressed against his chest. He felt at once protective, predatory, and complete, as if this was what his arms had been created for: to hold Edith Crawley.

All too soon, Edith pulled away, giving a shy smile before sending a fleeting glance over her shoulder to check that Marigold was still safely ensconced on her ride. Then she turned back to him, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"It was you," she sighed, "I still can't fully believe it, but…it's you. _You're_ true love."

"What?" Anthony murmured, fixated on the simple pleasure of having her head tucked under his chin, where it fit perfectly.

"The packages—the gifts—the Christmas tree, the night out at The Blue Finch. It was all you- "

"I don't…" Anthony began half-heartedly.

"Don't you play dumb with me, Anthony Strallan," she lifted her head to look him squarely in the eyes, "somehow you found out what a pathetic Christmas Marigold and I had planned and decided to spoil us instead. And Thomas Barrow had something to do with it."

"Thomas is a friend of mine…" he replied elliptically.

"You crazy man," she said, grinning all the while, "why ever would you do something so, so…"

He brought his hand up to cup her chin between one long thumb and forefinger.

"Perhaps because your happiness is important to me. I didn't realize how much until this week, but," he drew his thumb along her bottom lip, "I wouldn't mind continuing to make it a priority."

Part of him wanted to hear her response to his rather clumsy gambit. The rest of him wanted to taste the sweet smile on her oh so close lips…

"The ride's stopped," she whispered as his mouth was about to descend upon hers. He saw regret flash in her eyes as she turned to collect Marigold.

"Hello!" the girl chirruped as she took her mother's outstretched hand and fell into step.

"I think that was the best ride all day!" she pronounced as they strolled toward the parade ground.

"Better than the three other times you've ridden it today?" Edith remarked, amused.

"Yep," Marigold said, disdaining to explain her reasoning. "Why were you kissing Mister Anthony?"

Edith's steps faltered. She blushed clear to her crown and exchanged a glance with Anthony, whose eyes gleamed with silent laughter.

"Um…" she managed. How to explain it all to Marigold? _Because he is the most wonderful man and I'm absolutely head over heels in love with him._

Instead, Anthony came to her rescue.

"Where shall we stand?" he asked Marigold, pointing out a few choice spots to view the parade.

Edith exhaled, feeling her heart threatening to swell clear out of her chest. _Anthony was her 'true love.'_ Anthony _was_ her true love. She loved him. And this time, she wasn't going to let him get away.

Edith stood beside the two people she loved most in the world and watched an exceptional pipe and drum demonstration. As the parade ended, Marigold yawned, and Edith's mother instincts took over.

"I think it's time we headed home, sweetheart," she said, angling her daughter toward the exit.

"Oh, but we've almost forgot!" Anthony insisted, "we've got to go see Santa."

"Ohhh, yes!" Marigold agreed. "Mummy, please?"

"Well of course we've got to see Santa!" Edith agreed.

And off they went.

XXX

"And what do you want for Christmas this year, lass?" said the most Yorkshire Santa Claus there ever was.

Marigold, perched upon his knee, leaned forward her face growing serious.

Edith chuckled as she watched her daughter. She wasn't sure how she'd manage to deliver of what Santa promised, but she knew she'd figure it out. The way she felt right now, she could do anything. She looked over her shoulder at the source of such empowering happiness. He looked so handsome, a crooked smile playing on his lips, those stunning blue eyes glowing with happiness.

"Thank you, by the way," she said softly.

He looked at her, his smile growing sheepish.

"I didn't do it because I wanted anything from you, you know. It wasn't until after that I…"

"I know. I never thought you had."

His brow crinkled slightly.

"How did you know it was me? What gave me away?"

"Well, I had my suspicions when you showed up at the observatory."

He chuckled. "Yes, that was rather obvious."

"But I knew just now when you signed your name. I've read those notes a dozen times. I'd know "true love's" handwriting anywhere."

He laughed now.

"I see I shall have to cover my tracks more carefully in the future."

"Anthony, don't feel like you have to—"

But Edith was interrupted when a woman beside them addressed her.

"Why don't you two get in the photo with your daughter?" she remarked cheerily. "I'd be happy to take your photo."

Edith beamed at Anthony. "Why not?"

She stood, crouching a little behind Santa's green velvet throne; Marigold on Santa's lap, Anthony leaning over the other side of the chair. As the camerawoman adjusted her frame, Anthony turned to look at her with a smile that turned her insides to molten sugar. His clear blue eyes sparkled with tender admiration, promising so much more than just twelve days of Christmas. She reached out a hand to him and he took it, just as their photographer bid them "look at the camera." They looked forward together, hands clasped, two hearts against the world, overflowing with happiness and love.

XXX

 **A/N: Forgive me for a spot of administrative business. You're all cordially invited come join the forum Andith Tea Party here on if you'd like to be in on chatter, prompts, and Andith Fest! While you're there take the poll in the post "POLL: Andith Story Exchange Winter/Spring 2019?" and let me know if you'd like to join a forthcoming story exchange since I didn't get a Secret Santa together this year. Thanks! You're all darlings!**


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